


I'll Be Home for Christmas

by burninghoneyatdusk



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28120194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burninghoneyatdusk/pseuds/burninghoneyatdusk
Summary: Bellamy always spends their university winter breaks alone in Polis, but when Clarke finds out, she insists he return to small town Arkadia with her instead.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 24
Kudos: 206
Collections: bellarkescord advent calendar





	I'll Be Home for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays everyone! 🎄❄️️🎅🎁
> 
> Would I be me if I didn't give a plug for t100 Fic for Black Lives Matter? Of course not. Anyhow, we're still going strong so please keep sending in your prompts! All the info is in our [carrd](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/), but always feel free to DM me on tumblr (burninghoneyatdusk) or twitter (burnhoneydusk) for more details or with any questions.

Bellamy flops down on his twin bed in his dorm room, glancing at the empty bed across the room. His roommate went home for winter break two days ago and as of this afternoon, everyone else has too. Three days before Christmas, and his dorm feels like an empty tomb. It’s only 5 p.m., but it’s dark outside his window, and it’s quiet enough to hear a pin drop. He hates it, has grown to hate the holidays because of it, but he’s also used to it. He’s a senior now, but he spent the last three holiday breaks alone too, only in different dorms. Sighing, he forces himself to stand, deciding that he might as well get some laundry done and take advantage of the empty machines. 

Laundry basket in his arms, he leaves his room and turns the corner at the end of the hallway towards the elevators. When the doors to the elevators open, he nearly crashes into Clarke, not expecting anyone to be getting off of them. 

“Bellamy?” she questions

Ordinarily, Bellamy would only laugh and apologize, but in this case, he knows he’s been caught.

“Yeah, hey,” he starts awkwardly, stepping around her and into the elevator. Clarke stands in front of the door, holding it open with her arm. “I thought you were leaving this morning,” he starts, hoping to refocus the conversation back to her.

“There’s bad weather on my route home so my parents insisted I don’t drive home until the morning,” she tells him, offering a good-natured eye roll. “What about you? I thought your train left this morning.”

Bellamy clenches his jaw. There’s a reason he never tells people that he doesn’t go home for the holidays. The last thing he wants is anyone’s pity, but he especially doesn’t want Clarke’s. She’s one of his best friends—and maybe he’s a little in love with her too, but that’s neither here nor there. 

“I—same here,” he stutters. Clarke only narrows her eyes at him.

“You’re lying.”

“Am not—what’s with the third degree, Princess?”

Clarke rolls her eyes at him, but steps inside the elevator instead of leaving. She hits the basement level button before turning to face him. “What’s going on?”

Bellamy sighs, looking up at the elevator ceiling for a beat. He could just lie, but he doesn’t. Whether it’s because he has a hard time lying to Clarke specifically, or because deep down he simply wants to tell someone, he isn’t sure. 

“I don’t go home for the holidays,” he tells her, looking back at her. “I always stay here, I just don’t want people to be weird about it.”

Thankfully, the elevator doors open at that moment. Bellamy quickly exits, eager to escape Clarke’s response.

“You stay here, all alone?” she questions, walking briskly to catch up with him as he walks into the laundry room.

“It’s not a big deal, really,” he assures her, throwing his clothing into the machine. 

“Well, why don’t you go home?”

“It’s a long story.”

Clarke only nods, clearly understanding that he doesn’t want to get into it. 

“Well, maybe it’s not a big deal,” she starts, although it’s clear she disagrees with the sentiment. “But it’s ridiculous. You should come home with me tomorrow.”

Bellamy turns the machine on and spins around to face her, eyebrow quirked, amused by the offer. “I’m not crashing your family’s Christmas.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, hopping onto the table across from the row of wash machines. “I think crashing is what happens when you don’t have an invitation—which is what I just gave you.”

Bellamy leans back against the machine across from her, folding his arms. “It’s really nice, truly, but your family doesn’t want some random person at their Christmas.”

“First off, my parents  _ love  _ you. It’s actually really irritating.” Bellamy smirks at that. “Second, my house was like  _ that  _ house to my friends growing up, the one everyone called their second home and hung out in. My parents love a full house.”

Bellamy says nothing, unsure of what to even use as a counter-argument. 

“Great, it’s settled then,” Clarke announces, hopping off the table and heading towards the door. “If I order a pizza, will you split it with me?”

“If you don’t put those gross peppers on it,” he teases, following her towards the elevator. Clarke only sticks her tongue out in response before pulling up Postmates.

\--∞--

Bellamy stares at his packed suitcase, hands on his hips, unsure of just about everything in it. He’s torn really. Part of him—that part being his treacherous heart—is excited Clarke invited him home because that means more time spent with her, and that’s pretty much something he always wants. But the rest of him is nervous. He’s not sure what Christmas with the Griffins entails, but he’s sure it’s going to be much more extravagant than anything he’s used to. Sure, he knows her parents are nice, but they’re also  _ rich _ . Every time they visit Clarke, they take all their friends to dinner and cover the entire bill like it’s nothing. But at least, according to Clarke, they like him. He hopes she’s not exaggerating that part.

He shakes his head at himself, zipping up the suitcase. Even if his wardrobe isn't sufficient, it’s not like he has other options. Just as he pulls it off his bed, there’s a knock on his door. He opens it to find Clarke smiling brightly, hair messy and natural and face bare of any makeup. She’s wearing boots and leggings, and a blue bomber winter coat that makes her eyes look like a lake under a clear winter sky. 

“Ready?” she asks. 

“Sure,” he laughs, closing his door behind him.

“Oh God, you’re not like a scrooge about Christmas are you?” she teases. “Because that isn’t going to fly.”

Bellamy laughs again. “Not quite.”

“Good—because just to warn you, we’re absolutely listening to Christmas music the entirety of the three-hour drive to Arkadia.”

“You act like I don’t witness you obsessing over Christmas the entirety of December, every year. I know what I’m getting myself into,” he assures her.

Clarke laughs, cheeks flushing slightly as they take the elevator down.

Clarke Griffin is a Christmas fanatic, to put it lightly. She’s the girl who listens to Christmas music the entire month, who decorates her dorm room and even has a mini Christmas tree in the corner of it. She’s the girl who insisted that their friends have a white elephant gift exchange and a Christmas party last weekend. Bellamy was never very into Christmas, but he’s happy to go along with Clarke’s festive whims. It’s Clarke, after all.

Bellamy insists they stop for coffee before the drive and orders a black coffee for himself and a peppermint mocha latte for Clarke. Her taste in coffee is often seasonal, the common denominator being an absurd amount of sugar. It’s nearly 10 a.m. by the time they’re officially on the road.

“You sure your parents are okay with this?” Bellamy asks again. 

Clarke throws him an irritated look before her eyes return to the road. “You were  _ there _ when I called them. They were on  _ speaker _ .”

Bellamy shrugs. “Maybe they were being polite because you put them on the spot.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Bellamy laughs. “You already knew that.”

The thing is, Bellamy and Clarke didn’t always get along. Their first semester at Polis University, they actually clashed terribly. They were on the same floor of their dorm and coincidentally, ended up in most of the same classes. Except, instead of this bringing them closer, it only fueled their rivalry. They argued in the classroom, always trying to out-do each other. Clarke judged him for the slew of girls he slept with that semester and Bellamy thought Clarke was stuck up and spoiled.

It’s probably the reason that Bellamy has never been able to admit his feelings for her. They grew so slowly, so quietly under the surface. Irritation gave way to acceptance, which gave way to reluctant fondness, which gave way to close friendship. By the time he realized how he felt, it seemed like it was already too late. Still, the roots of their friendship often show their face in the form of bickering and teasing these days. Except now, it’s always with affection. Too much, in his case. 

After about thirty minutes on the road, which mostly consists of arguing over Christmas songs, Clarke asks the question that Bellamy knew would eventually come up.

“You don’t have to tell me, obviously,” she starts. “But I’ve got to ask—why don’t you go home for the holidays? Or I guess, more to the point, why do you lie about it?”

Bellamy knows that Clarke would respect him if he said he didn’t want to talk about it, but that’s exactly why he feels like he can.

“Well, uh,” he starts, nervously drumming his fingers on his coffee cup. “You know how my mom is an addict?” he asks, turning to look at Clarke. She nods.

“Well, when I went home for Thanksgiving freshman year, I found out she was still using, even though she said she wasn’t anymore. I searched the house, found drugs in her usual hiding spots that she didn’t know I knew about. I always just covered for her when I was still at the house because I didn’t want Octavia and I separated. But with me being away, I realized that I was putting O in danger by saying nothing, and so I finally called social services.”

“Shit, Bellamy. I’m so sorry.”

Bellamy only shrugs. “Octavia lives with her dad now, and he’s a good guy—he’s good to her, and she’s happy. He didn’t even know about her, and took her in without a second thought. But my mom still doesn’t speak to me—blames me—and O’s dad has his own family. I don’t want to intrude on that. So, I haven’t gone home since. Octavia’s dad lets her visit me in Polis, and...well, that’s pretty much it.”

“You could have told me—or someone.” 

“I know,” Bellamy agrees. “I know you guys would have been there, it’s just—I didn’t want any pity, or people feeling bad, or-”

“You’re a stubborn idiot,” Clarke scolds him, breaking some of the tension that had settled over the car. 

Bellamy breaks into a smile. “Yet  _ you _ want to spend a whole week with me.”

It’s Clarke who smiles now. “You’ve never been to Arkadia, you don’t know what you’re in for.”

“A small New England town celebrating Christmas? I’m shaking.”

Clarke barks a laugh. “I just mean they’re all  _ a lot _ .”

That has Bellamy’s attention. “And who is  _ they _ ? Besides your parents.”

“Just my high school friends—they’ll all be home for the week too.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Are you still close with them?”

“Yeah, we still talk often,” Clarke tells him, before diving into descriptions of all of them. Bellamy tries to keep track—after all, he’s heard these names mentioned before—but he still barely has them memorized. 

“You don’t talk to friends from high school?” Clarke asks.

Bellamy laughs, running a hand through his curls. “Not exactly—most ended up in prison or are headed there, to be honest. We grew apart when I left for school.”

“Damn. So you’re like the straight-laced golden boy where you’re from?”

Bellamy laughs again. “Something like that.”

Bellamy doesn’t really want to get into his upbringing. It’s not like Clarke doesn’t know the overview, especially about his mother. But it’s hard to explain to someone like her, who clearly had a childhood that was the complete opposite of him. It’s really a miracle Bellamy kept his grades up enough to get into Polis, even if he is going to be paying off the loans for years to come. In fact, when he looks back, he feels guilty he didn’t try harder to get Octavia out of there much sooner. At the time, he couldn’t imagine anyone being able to look after her better than himself. Given her life now, with her dad’s family in Long Island, he thinks maybe he was being more selfish than he realized.

\--∞--

Bellamy gazes out the window at the snow-dusted trees that line downtown Arkadia. Her parents weren’t kidding about bad weather yesterday—a fresh blanket of snow covers all of the lawns they pass, muddy piles of plowed snow pushed against the curbs. 

“So, this is it,” Clarke prompts. Bellamy looks over at her, surprised to realize she looks a little nervous. He can’t imagine why. 

“A true Stars Hollow.”

Clarke barks a surprised laugh. “Gilmore Girls? Really?”

Bellamy smiles, looking out the window again. “I do have a little sister,” he shrugs.

A few minutes later, Clarke pulls into an old Victorian home on a quiet, residential street in the center of town. Bellamy laughs when he takes in the house—although it isn’t dark yet, he can clearly see how decked out the house is in decor and lights. Garland hangs from the porch railing, an enormous wreath adorns their door, and lights are strung everywhere, from the icicle lights hanging from the house to the ones wrapping the trees in their front lawn.

“Okay, I see where you get it from,” he chuckles.

“See? It’s hardly my fault. I’ve been brainwashed,” Clarke jokes, turning off the car and hopping out. 

Bellamy feels nervous again as he climbs out of the car, both of them retrieving their bags from the back of the car. Her parents don’t give them much time to dwell on those nerves though—by the time they walk up the front steps to the porch, the front door swings open to reveal her parents standing there with wide smiles on their faces. 

Bellamy hangs back, hands in his pocket as her parents wrap her in a hug. Bellamy is surprised when her mother hugs him next and hopes that he doesn’t come off as too awkward.

“We’re so happy to have you, Bellamy,” she smiles, shooing them into the house and out of the cold.

“Thanks, I really appreciate it.”

“Well, Clarke won’t shut up about you—it’s Bellamy this, Bellamy that-” Her father is cut off by Clarke elbowing him. 

“Would you stop,” she scolds, quickly turning back towards Bellamy. “He’s joking,” she adds. Still, Bellamy doesn’t miss how her cheeks flush pink. He doesn’t want to read too much into it, but he can’t help the butterflies that flutter around his stomach at the implication. 

“Is that so?” Bellamy teases, attempting to keep his tone teasing, even though he really  _ does _ want to know if it’s true.

“See what you did?” Clarke asks her father. “Like his ego wasn’t big enough.”

Bellamy breaks into a grin and her parents laugh. 

“Okay, why don’t you show him the guest room and then I’ll show you the cookies you have to get started on for tomorrow,” her mom instructs.

“Are you serious?” Clarke complains. “We’re meeting everyone at Drop Ship.”

Her father checks his watch, although it’s clear he already knows the time. “Looks like you have about five hours to get the cookies done then?”

Clarke huffs, nodding at Bellamy to follow her up the stairs. They come to a stop at Clarke’s room first. As she throws her bag onto her bed, he wanders the room, too curious to pretend he’s not nosy. He’s immediately drawn to the corkboard above her desk, covered in photos from her high school days. 

“What are you smiling at?” she asks, coming to stand beside him. He hadn’t even realized he was. 

“You were Prom Queen, weren’t you?” he laughs.

It’s not that he really thinks she was, but her photos pretty much depict the life of an American Princess. It makes sense, really. His nickname for her, once hurled as an insult and not said fondly, was because he suspected exactly this. But still—it’s strange for him to see this part of her life. There are photos of football games and homecoming floats, surrounded by friends, and maybe his favorite, her in a cheerleading uniform. 

“Stop it,” she laughs, bumping his shoulder with hers. When he glances at her, she’s blushing again. 

“You  _ were _ actually Prom Queen?” he asks.

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“Oh, I’m not making fun of you—as long as I get to see your crown, Princess.”

“C’mon, asshole,” she laughs, walking away from him. “Let me show you your room.”

\--∞--

As soon as Bellamy and Clarke walk into the kitchen, her mother starts pointing out ingredients and explaining to Clarke the different cookies they need to start making as she puts her jacket on. 

“Okay, we need to pick up a few more things for tomorrow. We’ll be back in a few hours,” she tells them.

“Mom, we’ve got it. Don’t worry about it,” Clarke assures her. 

“So what exactly is tomorrow?” Bellamy asks, once her parents are gone

“My parents have an annual Christmas Eve party,” she tells him, grabbing the bag of flour. She must be able to read his nerves, because she adds, “Don’t worry—it’s casual. A lot of sweaters, food, and alcohol.”

“My kind of party,” he laughs. “So what are we making?”

Clarke dives into an overview of the sugar cookies, gingerbread cookies, and the peanut butter kiss cookies they have to get started on while her parents are out. They’re off to a good start for a while, chatting as they bake, Clarke’s Christmas playlist playing in the background. 

That is until Clarke is talking and Bellamy’s laugh cuts her off mid-sentence. He can’t help it—it’s both funny and adorable the way she has no idea she has a giant spot of flour covering the tip of her nose. 

“What?” she asks. 

“C’mere,” he tells her, pulling her closer. “You look like you got into some coke,” he laughs, wiping the bit of flour from her nose. 

She looks up at him with wide blue eyes and for a minute, the shift in the moment from humorous to something more loaded makes him pause. But before he can say anything, Clarke is dipping her finger in flour spilled on the counter and streaking it across his face. 

“Now we match,” she teases. 

Clarke gets like this—especially when she drinks, but sober too. Mischievous is really the best word for it. Like when they’re at a party and she steals his baseball cap and makes a game of making him chase her around for the rest of the night as he tries to get it back. Not that he minds that game. 

Bellamy retaliates and the next ten minutes consist of them flicking flour at each other around the kitchen. Clarke darts around the other side of the island, eyes challenging, but Bellamy fakes left and catches her when he rounds the island. He streaks more flour across her face and the two of them descend into laughter. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is a mess, but fuck—he wants to kiss her. He wants to kiss her so badly. Bellamy doesn’t get a chance to consider that much longer before she turns away, looking at the mess they made.

“We’ve got to clean this up before my parents get home, or my mom’s going to flip out.”

Bellamy chuckles but grabs the paper towels, taking a few before tossing the roll at Clarke. “Then let’s get to it.”

\--∞--

Bellamy stares at his suitcase, towel still wrapped around his waist. Clarke assured him the bar was casual, so he goes with a pair of dark jeans and a maroon long sleeve t-shirt. He’s already in his pants and has just picked up his shirt when there’s a knock on the door. He opens it with his shirt still in his hand, finding Clarke as he expected. 

“Oh—sorry,” she stutters as he pulls his shirt over his head. He’s not sure what to think about the way her cheeks flush—she’s seen him shirtless plenty of times. They’ve lived in the same dorms for three and a half years now.

“No problem—ready?” he asks, grabbing his jacket. Clarke nods, unusually quiet as she leads him down the hallway and stairs.

“Bye!” Clarke yells towards the kitchen, where her parents are still cooking. 

“We’re walking,” Clarke tells him as she opens the door. “It’s only like a fifteen-minute walk.”

“Works for me,” he answers, shoving his hands in his coat pockets to keep them warm.

They’re quiet for a few minutes as they walk down the sidewalk and Bellamy takes in his surroundings. House after house is decked out in Christmas lights, the lawns covered in a blanket of snow. 

“This place is like something from a movie,” he laughs. “You really grew up in Pleasantville, huh?”

Clarke laughs. “In some ways, I guess. It’s not perfect, but I appreciate it more now that I left. To be honest, I couldn’t wait to leave.”

“Yeah?”

Clarke shrugs. “You know—typical teenage angst. I thought my dreams were too big for a small town.”

“Well that part is true,” he tells her, bumping his shoulder against hers. Clarke laughs again.

“So what’s this bar we’re going to?” he adds. 

Clarke’s face lights up. “It’s actually an old train station that was turned into an Irish pub.”

Bellamy raises his brow at that.

“It’s fun—and most importantly,  _ so _ much cheaper than anywhere in Polis. My friends and I were here for Thanksgiving Eve this year too.”

“Ah, isn’t that the night you drunk called me to tell me how much you love peanut butter?”

Clarke laughs as she ducks her head. “Maybe.” She pauses, body stiffening. “Does that mean you lied about going home for Thanksgiving too?”

“Don’t make it a thing,” he sighs. “I was fine, I promise.”

“Fine isn’t  _ good _ .”

“Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Clarke smiles at that, wrapping herself around his arm and resting her head against his shoulder for a moment as they walk. “True. I guess that’ll have to do.”

Sometimes Bellamy wishes Clarke wouldn’t be so touchy. She must have no idea what it does to him, how badly it makes him want to pull her even closer and press his lips to hers. Thankfully, she pulls away a second later. He misses her warmth, even though it’s for the best. 

They walk down what she explains is Main Street, which is incredibly quiet despite it only being 9 p.m. All the stores are closed but each has its own Christmas display in the window. There’s a park on the other side of the street with some kind of fountain in the middle of it and countless trees decorated with lights. They turn left down a street that dips downhill and Bellamy sees the railroad tracks in the distance. What he assumes is Drop Ship is a building on the tracks, decorated in Christmas lights like the rest of the town and with people spilling out of it and onto a small patio despite the cold. 

Clarke opens the door and leads him into the packed bar. It doesn’t look too different from any other Irish pub he’s seen—there’s a bar with tables and booths surrounding it, and a room next to the bar with additional seating. Before Bellamy can even take in his surroundings, he hears people calling Clarke’s name. He tenses, suddenly nervous about meeting her friends. He shouldn’t be, but it’s important to him that they like him. It’s important to him that he fits in Clarke’s life, in spite of how impossible that seems given his own roots. 

Bellamy keeps his hands in his pockets, awkwardly hanging back as a group by the bar swarms Clarke, taking turns hugging her. He isn’t sure what it’s like to be close to people you grew up with like this, but he smiles at the scene. Clarke is incredible, why wouldn’t she have close friends like this?

“Hey guys, this is Bellamy,” Clarke introduces him, pulling him forward. 

Clarke introduces all of them and they all echo their greetings—Raven, Monty, Jasper, Murphy, Harper, and Miller. He probably won’t remember all the names, but he tries his best. A second later, Clarke disappears towards the bar and her friends descend upon him before he can follow her. 

“So  _ you’re  _ Bellamy?” Raven asks. 

Bellamy raises his eyebrows, chuckling. “Yeah—that doesn’t sound good though.”

Raven shrugs, already intimidating him. “Is there a reason it wouldn’t be a good thing?”

Miller rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry about the guard dog, man,” he assures him, just as Raven elbows him.

“So you go to Polis with Clarke?” Harper asks. She seems sweet, and intent on pushing past Raven’s interrogation. 

“Uh, yeah,” he starts, running a hand through his hair. “We’ve known each other since freshman year.”

“You should get a medal for putting up with her that long,” Murphy mutters, taking a sip of his drink. Clarke suddenly appears behind Murphy, somehow managing to wrap an arm around him even with a drink in each hand. 

“Awe, did you miss me so much that it’s making you cranky?” Clarke coos, drawing a laugh from the others. Bellamy knows they’re only friends, but it still makes his stomach churn to see Clarke so close with someone. It’s the same feeling he got when Clarke was dating Lexa last year. 

“You wish,” Murphy mutters, pushing her off him. Still, Bellamy catches the subtle smile that breaks through his surliness. 

“Here.” Clarke hands Bellamy a drink as she moves to stand beside him.

“I’ll get the next round.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she tells him with a good-natured eye roll. 

Bellamy takes a sip, noting it’s a rum and coke—what he always drinks. He doesn’t have to ask to know that Clarke is drinking a whiskey ginger. It’s her go-to rail drink. These are just a few of the small, seemingly useless details about each other that they’ve memorized over the last few years. 

The night goes by quickly after that, the group migrating to a large table towards the back of the bar. They’re a fun group and Bellamy immediately understands why Clarke likes them. Even Raven and Murphy, by far the most intimidating and closed off of her friends, have seemingly warmed up to him within a few hours. That might have something to do with the two rounds of tequila shots they’ve gone through. Right as they throw back the second round, a guy with floppy brown hair and an innocent-looking face walks over to their table.

“Hey guys,” he greets the table with a smile. Despite his easy-going demeanor, there’s something annoyingly smug about his smile. 

Although no one seems too fond of his presence, the group mumbles a greeting. Everyone except Raven that is, who only shoots him a dirty look. “Piss off, Finn.”

Finn puts his hands up in defense. “Just wanted to say hi,” he starts, his attention turning towards Clarke. Bellamy catches Murphy rolling his eyes. “Hey Clarke, back from Polis?”

Bellamy tenses, sensing Clarke’s own discomfort. Her leg is bouncing under the table, brushing against his own. 

“Yup. See you later,” she tells him dismissively, taking a sip of her drink. Finn finally seems to take the hint and offers them a half-wave before walking away and back towards his own group of friends.

“Who’s that?” Bellamy asks, unable to help himself.

“Clarke’s douchebag ex who cheated on her on prom night,” Jasper chimes in from the other side of Clarke. He gets an elbow from Clarke for the explanation.

Bellamy tenses, fighting the urge to stand up and punch the guy in the face. He also feels a little guilty when he remembers teasing her about being prom queen just a few hours ago. Clearly, it wasn’t the perfect memory he thought it was. 

“He’s an ass, and not worth talking about,” Clarke tells him, decidedly ending the conversation.

It’s a weird reminder that Clarke had an entire life before he met her at Polis. They know each others’ college exes and were usually the ones to nurse each other through their breakups, but it’s only now that he realizes maybe it’s strange Clarke never brought up her high school ex. Bellamy could say the same about himself, but he never dated anyone seriously enough in high school to even call a girlfriend.

It’s nearly 1 a.m. when everyone starts to disperse. Monty, who wasn’t drinking, offers to drive half of them home. The rest of them disperse as they walk to their respective homes and soon enough, it’s only Clarke and him again, snow crunching under their shoes on the quiet street.

Bellamy is fairly drunk, there’s no doubt about it, but he knows Clarke is even more so. If he didn’t see the number of drinks she consumed and know her tolerance level so well, he’d be able to tell just by the way she sways as she walks. 

“Did you have fun?” she prompts, knocking her shoulder against his.

“Yeah, your friends are awesome,” he tells her, genuinely meaning it. “You’re so lucky you have them.”

“Yeah,” Clarke agrees. “I am.”

There’s a beat of silence as they walk up the hill towards Main Street. Bellamy probably only brings it up because he’s drunk, but he can’t help himself.

“Sorry about the prom queen comment earlier, I didn’t...well, that guy seems like a dick.”

“He  _ is  _ a dick,” Clarke laughs, drawing one from Bellamy.

Clarke sighs once they settle into silence again. “You know, my life wasn’t perfect here.”

“I know - I didn’t mean to imply-”

“You didn’t,” Clarke quickly assures him. “I just - I know how it looks. Like, perfect small town, the blonde cheerleader-prom queen. My senior year was a disaster though. Finn was the least of it—my parents were separated most of the year. I was honestly surprised they got back together, although they’re a lot better now.”

Bellamy whistles. “Damn. I had no idea.”

“You’re not the only one good at keeping secrets,” Clarke responds wryly. 

Bellamy laughs. “Yeah, let’s not do that anymore.”

“Deal,” Clarke agrees. 

He doesn’t get a chance to respond before she pulls him towards the park instead of turning right down the street towards her house.

“Where are we going?” he laughs.

“I want to show you the park.” 

Clarke shoots him a teasing smile, bouncing a few feet ahead of him as they walk into the park. It really does look like something out of a dream to him, a true winter wonderland. But nothing compares to the sight of Clarke, drunk and happy, cheeks pink and smile wide. He immediately recognizes that she’s up to no good, but usually, it’s more fun to play along.

“C’mere,” she tells him, nearly pouting at him for not keeping up with her.

“I don’t trust you.”

“That’s not nice.”

Bellamy shrugs, smirking. “I know drunk Clarke,” he teases as he catches up with her. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, his smile embarrassingly wide.

Clarke bites her bottom lip as she looks up at him and for a second, he feels just drunk enough, just brave enough, just stupid enough, to kiss her. Before he can consider that, Clarke shoves him hard and he falls backward into a snowbank next to the sidewalk that winds through the park.

“Oh,” Bellamy starts, laughing darkly. “That’s how this is going to go?”

Clarke is already backing up to the opposite side of the sidewalk and packing a snowball, but Bellamy is just as fast and they end up simultaneously throwing them at each other. Bellamy isn’t sure how much time passes while they chase each other around the park, their old rivalry surfacing as they chuck snowballs at each other. Their playful taunts and Clarke’s giggles are the only sounds in the quiet park as they run around it. Clarke tires first, allowing Bellamy to finally catch her. She squeals as he throws her over his shoulder and attempts to toss her into a snowbank, but Clarke’s grip on him tightens and that, along with his drunken state, causes him to fall into the snowbank with her. 

The two of them are in hysterics and Bellamy’s stomach hurts from laughing by the time they catch their breath.

“I surrender,” Clarke laughs lightly.

“About time,” Bellamy sighs.

Neither makes a move to stand and they lie on their backs in silence, staring up at the sky. It’s a clear night and he can see more stars out here than he usually can in Polis. 

“This is nice,” he murmurs.

Clarke hums in agreement. 

“We should probably get back though,” he prompts, half worried Clarke might fall asleep in the snowbank.

She only hums again, so Bellamy moves first, clumsily stepping out of the snowbank. He leans forward, offering his hand to Clarke and pulling her up when she takes it. 

“My hands are like ice,” she complains.

“Wonder why,” he teases, taking one of her hands and rubbing it between his, blowing his warm breath on it. “Better?”

Clarke doesn’t answer and when his gaze shifts from their hands to her face, he’s surprised to see her already looking at him with wide eyes.

“Clarke?”

She pulls her hand from his and leans forward at the same time that her hands cup his face. His useless brain focuses on the fact that the hand he was just holding is considerably warmer than the other, instead of the fact that her lips are moving towards his own. Still, his body reacts when they brush against his, greedily accepting what he’s been yearning for years now. Bellamy’s arms tighten around her, pulling her closer as she gasps into his mouth. He takes advantage of it and licks into her mouth, their combined breaths the only source of warmth in the icy night. Then, as quickly and suddenly as it started, it ends. Clarke pulls away without notice and takes a full step away from him. Bellamy clears his throat, never more at a loss about what to say.

“Sorry,” Clarke says quietly. “We should get back,” she adds, already walking.

“Sorry?” Bellamy questions, catching up with her. 

Clarke releases a stilted laugh. “It’s just - it was just the alcohol. I got carried away.”

Bellamy is hardly sure what to make of that. Does she mean she regrets it?

“I hardly minded,” Bellamy teases, hoping to disperse some of the tension that has fallen over them.

Clarke laughs again, sounding a little more like herself, but says nothing more.

\--∞--

Bellamy is nervous all day Christmas Eve. He really shouldn’t be—Clarke told him in so many words that kissing him was a drunken mistake. He should be able to put it behind him, but something about the whole thing feels...unfinished. It isn’t like him and Clarke to skirt around each other, but that’s what they’ve been doing all day.

It’s been easy enough to avoid any kind of conversation since her parents keep them busy all day setting up for the party. They hardly have a moment alone, and are thus saved from facing any leftover tension from the previous night. Bellamy hopes that with time, it’ll be like it never happened. 

Well, that’s not  _ really _ what he hopes. What he really hopes is that Clarke doesn’t regret kissing him and might actually like him, but that’s increasingly unlikely. So with that in mind, he hopes they can remain best friends because he would rather have her as a friend than nothing at all. That much he’s sure of, no matter how painful the ache in his chest sometimes is when he’s pining over her.

By 7 p.m., the Griffin house is packed. Their guests are mostly older people her parents’ age, but all her friends from the previous night are here too and from what he gathers, some of their parents as well. He’s glad that he met them last night so he actually has people to talk to, especially since Clarke seems keen on avoiding him. 

She looks beautiful, he can’t help but notice. Bellamy is supposed to be listening to Miller, but he’s watching Clarke over Miller’s shoulder instead. She’s in a forest green cable knit sweater and a black skirt and tights, her red lips drawing him in as she speaks to an older couple. 

“Are you listening?”

“Sorry,” Bellamy apologizes, shifting his gaze back to Miller and offering a sheepish smile as he runs a hand through his curls. “Got distracted.”

Miller turns, follows Bellamy’s line of sight and smirks when he turns back to him. 

“Yeah, I bet you did,” he laughs, clapping a hand over his shoulder. “You better do something about that.”

Bellamy opens his mouth—to say what, he isn’t even sure—but Miller only holds up his empty beer bottle and walks away from him. Deciding that another drink sounds pretty fantastic, Bellamy turns around to walk towards the kitchen. When he passes Clarke, he’s surprised to see that she and Raven seem to be having an intense conversation, the other couple now gone. He eyes them curiously as he passes, trying not to be too obvious about it, but Raven catches his eye just as he walks into the kitchen.

_ Shit _ , he thinks as he makes his way to the fridge. There’s a few others in the kitchen, but no one he recognizes. Once he pulls out a beer, he closes the fridge door and nearly drops the beer at the sight of Raven on the other side of the door.

“Jesus,” he chuckles. “Warn a guy.”

Instead of laughing, she stares at him with an intense glare that can’t mean anything good. “We need to talk,” she tells him, pulling him into the hallway, away from everyone.

“Am I in trouble?” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

Raven sighs. “I’m breaking like  _ every _ girl rule, friend rule—all the rules—in saying this.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t say it,” Bellamy tries, half afraid of where the conversation is going.

Raven lowers her voice when she speaks again. “You know she’s been in love with you for  _ years _ right?”

Bellamy raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “Clarke?”

Raven crosses her arms, thoroughly unimpressed. “Yes, of course—who else would I be talking about?”

Bellamy opens his mouth to speak, but Raven cuts him off with a hand. “I don’t want to hear any details, I already shouldn’t have told you that. But if you like her too, you should do something about it.”

She leaves him standing there, gape-mouthed, his heart pounding in his chest.

\--∞--

If Bellamy thought things were strange between Clarke and him before, he can barely look at her now. Every time he does, his heart starts racing and his thoughts tumble into deeper confusion.

Clarke is in love with him?

That seems impossible. Then again, Clarke has never been very upfront with her feelings. When he thinks about it, both Lexa and Cillian were the ones who pursued her. Not to mention, he doesn’t think Clarke was the one chasing after the other random hookups she’s had throughout the years. 

Clarke isn’t like him, who has no problem approaching a girl. Maybe that’s why she has no idea how head over heels he is for her. He hasn’t said anything because Clarke is different—Clarke means more than anyone and his feelings for her aren’t comparable to his past hookups or even his relationship with Gina sophomore year. Clarke is...well, Clarke is a risk. She’s the only girl who has scared him like this, who he couldn’t bear to lose. Even if that meant only being her friend. But now...but now, things are different. 

The last of the guests leave the house by 11 p.m. and Clarke and Bellamy help her parents clean up for thirty minutes before her parents head to bed, telling them that they’ll worry about the rest in the morning. They say goodnight, leaving Bellamy and Clarke in the kitchen, which suddenly seems too big and quiet in an intimidating way.

“I’m exhausted,” Clarke prompts, folding her arms across her chest like she does when she’s nervous. “I’m going to head to bed.”

Bellamy gathers any meager bit of bravery he might have stored somewhere inside him. “Watch a movie with me.”

Clarke raises her eyebrows, offering an unsure smile. “I don’t know, I’m pretty tired.”

“C’mon,” Bellamy urges her, leaning forward on his forearms on the kitchen island. “This is pretty much the only family Christmas tradition I actually have to offer.”

Clarke laughs, ducking her head. “And what would that be?”

“Midnight showing of  _ It’s a Wonderful Life _ ,” he tells her, checking his watch. “And we have ten minutes before it starts.”

Clarke bites down a smile. “Would you believe me if I told you I’ve actually never seen it?”

Bellamy straightens, raising his eyebrows at her. “Are you kidding me? The Christmas Princess has never seen the most famous Christmas movie of all time?”

“Okay, I think you’re overselling it a bit,” she laughs, drawing a smile from Bellamy. “I didn’t like black and white movies as a kid,” she shrugs. 

“Fair enough, but we’re definitely watching it now.”

“Fine, fine. I’m going to put some leggings on, I’ll be down in five.”

Bellamy goes to the living room once Clarke runs upstairs, wiping his hands on his jeans. God, he’s so damn nervous. As he sits down on the couch and flips on the television, old doubts creep in. By the time Clarke comes downstairs, he’s half considering not saying a thing. 

Wouldn’t that be easier? It’s clear they can get past the kiss if they wanted to. It’s just that...he doesn’t want to. Not even a little.

“So what’s so great about this movie?” Clarke huffs, collapsing onto the couch. She keeps a solid foot between them, a distance that Bellamy immediately resents.

“You pretty much live in Bedford Falls,” he laughs. “You’ll like it.”

“If you say so,” she teases as the opening credits begin, but she’s smiling when Bellamy glances over at her.

He’s so nervous he feels like he’s going to throw up, which is why he knows that if he’s going to say something, it has to be soon. He can’t physically handle drawing this out any longer. About fifteen minutes into the movie, he swallows thickly. Here it goes. 

“Clarke?”

She hums in response, eyes still trained on the television.

“Why’d you kiss me?”

Clarke’s head whips around to face him, mouth open in surprise. Even in the dark—the combined glow of the christmas tree lights and television the only light in the room—he can see how her cheeks flush. It makes his heart beat that much faster. 

“I - I was drunk. I was just-”

“I thought we said no more secrets,” he cuts her off, calling bull.

“I -” Clarke starts, pausing for a beat. “I don’t want to ruin our friendship or freak you out because I have a stupid crush or…” she trails off, huffing. 

The fact that she’s  _ irritated _ at this conversation only makes him smile that much wider.

“Are you laughing at me?” she asks, gawking at him. 

“A little.”

“You’re an ass,” she scolds, hitting him with the throw pillow next to her. 

Bellamy laughs again, ducking. He leans forward in an attempt to take it from her, which results in him leaning over her, the pillow discarded on her other side.

“I think I remember saying I hardly minded,” he murmurs, lips now a breath away from hers. “Which was really the understatement of the year,” he smiles. 

“What-”

Bellamy doesn’t have the patience to let Clarke finish before he kisses her. She gasps into his mouth before she quickly reciprocates, her hands moving to his curls as she pulls him closer, her lips somehow both gentle and urgent. He can taste the hint of red wine she’d been drinking all night, and the sugar on her lips from the frosted cookies he knows are her favorite. When they finally break for air, Bellamy doesn’t move far, letting his forehead drop against hers.

“Just a stupid crush?” he whispers teasingly.

Clarke smiles. “Yeah, just a stupid crush.”

“Me too.”

With little warning, Bellamy drops back against the couch again. He pulls her with him and she giggles as she tucks herself into his side. 

“Are we going to talk about this?” she prompts, rolling her head against his shoulder to look up at him.

“Oh, now you want to talk about it?”

“Shut up,” she laughs, shoving him before falling into him again. “I didn’t know,” she adds, quieter this time.

“Me neither—obviously. What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, suddenly shy again as she fiddles with the sleeve of her sweater. “Like is this just... _ benefits _ , or-”

“No,” he refutes immediately, the word leaving his lips before his brain can even process it. It’s an instinct. He takes a deep breath. “Will it totally freak you out if I tell you I’m in love with you, and have been for a while?”

Clarke looks up at him again, offering him a toothy smile. “Me too.”

Bellamy can’t help but lean down to kiss her again, although it’s more teeth clacking than kissing given that neither of them can stop smiling.

“Now, that that’s settled, can we pay attention to the movie?” he laughs.

Clarke nods, but pushes Bellamy down so that she can lay down in front of him, her back against his chest. After pulling the throw blanket from the back of the couch and laying it over them, he lays back down, his arm wrapped around her waist and holding her against him. After a few minutes her hand moves to hold the one around her, fingers interlacing with his. He presses a kiss to her temple, bewildered by how natural this already feels. 

“Was this really a tradition for you?” she asks, nearly twenty minutes later. 

“Mhmm. My mom usually worked late on Christmas Eve, so me—and Octavia once she was older—would stay up and watch it with her when she got home.”

“That’s nice,” Clarke hums. 

“Yeah, but I think maybe this should be the new tradition.”

“Love confessions on the couch?”

Bellamy laughs, pinching her side. “No, coming to Arkadia.”

“You’re not wrong about this place being pretty similar to Arkadia—it is a pretty nice place to spend Christmas.”

“The  _ place _ isn’t really the attraction for me, Clarke,” he murmurs. “I just want to spend Christmas with you.”

Clarke shifts so that she can look up at him and Bellamy kisses her again, already knowing he’ll never get enough of her. 

“Merry Christmas, Bellamy,” she murmurs. 

“Merry Christmas, Princess.”


End file.
